


When the Cows Come Home

by Silvestria



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Cows, F/M, animal husbandry, awkward adventures in fields, love second time round, men with babies, surprisingly romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:52:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvestria/pseuds/Silvestria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cows are due to arrive at Downton Abbey and Charles Blake is on hand to help settle them in. But the course of true animal husbandry never did run smooth. Now Christmas Special compliant and including the long-awaited Epilogue! More romantic than the summary might suggest... (Then again, whoever thought a scene involving dehydrated pigs would be hot?!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When the Cows Come Home

Charles arrived just in time for tea, at the same time as the children. It was a happy coincidence for, while Sybbie paid him no attention and ran ahead of Nanny into the drawing room to see her Papa, Charles could not help grinning at George as he handed Carson his coat and hat. The child peered at him, thoughtfully sucking his thumb, and perhaps recognised him. It had been several months since he had seen him, for he and Mary had communicated mostly over the telephone recently and George had not come to London for the season.

Charles ignored the strong possibility that George had no idea who he was and advanced towards him with a broad smile, intercepting Nanny before she could enter the drawing room.

"Hello there, little fellow!" He held out his arms. "It's alright, I'll take him in."

"If you wish, Sir," replied Nanny and passed him across.

"You're a lot quieter than you were last time we were together," Charles observed to the child who squirmed in his arms, his eyes darting intelligently from the new face before him to the door.

George removed his thumb from his mouth and interrogated him with all the imperiousness of a future earl, "Mummy?"

"Oho, this is new!" Charles gave up his fingers to the small, wet hand that reached out for them. "We'll see Mummy now. Good?"

The boy studied him a moment and Charles returned the inspection, noting the liquid clarity of his eyes and the luxurious thickness of his chestnut curls that were so like his mother's that his smile softened into something infinitely more tender as he looked at him. He had missed her, missed her with an ache that was as alarming in its power and novelty as it was thrilling. The boy also had the beginning of a determined chin that was not Mary's and it seemed to be this unfamiliar side of him, this personality that was only just emerging, that spoke through him then.

"Yes. Mummy now," replied George firmly. His free hand latched onto Charles' hair and he broke eye-contact in order to look towards the door that had swung shut after Sybbie.

"I do like to see to a boy who has sorted out his priorities from an early age," Charles replied with solemn agreement and followed Nanny into the drawing room.

"Look who's here!" announced Nanny, in that irritating way people sometimes use when around children.

"Mr. Blake, we had almost given up on you," was what Cora said as the party stood up to receive them, but Charles and George only had eyes for the same person.

Mary's eyes had widened when she saw who was carrying her son, her hands clasping in front of her, but they brightened almost instantly. She came towards him and they met in the centre of the room.

"Mummy!" exclaimed George, dropping his grip on Charles and stretching out his arms to his mother.

"There you are, darling," said Mary, caressing his head as she reached out to take him, but her eyes didn't leave Charles'. "You're very late; were you delayed on the way down?"

"I'm afraid I was responsible for keeping him from you because I wanted to say hello," he explained as he relinquished George to his mother.

Her lips twitched into a smile but all she said was, "And what about you? We've been expecting you all afternoon."

"Yes, yes!" chattered the child happily and earned himself a kiss on the forehead.

"I'm sorry to prove a disappointment," he replied, not trying too hard to sound contrite, considering how glad he was to see her. He lowered his brows into a challenge and she pursed her lips, colour staining her cheeks.

"You're not a disappointment, Charles," she said softly, briefly touching his arm as she shifted George on her hip and walked back over to the settee. His heart soared and he followed her with his eyes in appreciation.

"Has Mary told you the bad news?" said Tom as they joined the family circle, looking up from Sybbie.

He frowned. "What bad news? Nothing too serious I hope."

"The cow man 'phoned," explained Mary, "just ten minutes ago. They've broken down near Peterborough."

"No!"

"Yes!" retorted George, recognising the game.

"Nooo," repeated Charles, squatting down and pouting sadly at him before glancing up at Mary. "What are they going to do?"

"Yesss!"

Mary removed the fond expression that had crossed her face, but not quickly enough for him to avoid seeing it. "Hush now, darling. They will have to wait for mechanics to arrive and who can tell how long it will take them to fix it? They will be very late, that is for sure." She shrugged in irritation.

"We'll have to wait up for them," said Tom, clapping Sybbie's hands together between his own. "We can't ask Merrill to stay up so I better had."

"You?" Mary looked away from Charles to fix her brother-in-law with a steely glare. "You have a meeting with the groundsman tomorrow morning, don't you both, Papa? You can't be half asleep in that."

"I-"

"I will wait up."

"Mary-"

"They are my cows."

She spoke with determination but also with complete expectation of getting her way. There was an authority about her and a confidence that was more pronounced than Charles remembered from the spring. She had completely taken on the role he had seen her start to adopt at the beginning of their acquaintance. It was beautiful to see.

"Would you like company?" he asked her quietly, under the debate of her parents who still seemed to think they might be able to persuade her out of an idea she had already decided to follow through.

She looked up and met his eyes. "I was counting on it," she said with a flick of her eyebrows. "They're your cows too, in every way that matters."

He thought of the first time she had come to him in London with the idea of cows. Hadn't he once mentioned something to Tom about dairy farming? Tom thought he had. Did he really think it would be a good idea for Downton? She would be willing to consider it. And then the plea, the plea that she must have understood how it would appear to him: would he help her? If he had not been head over heels in love with her before, he was by then. It had been the perfect way to prove how much they were on the same side and make the battle seem something more mutually satisfying than the terminology suggested.

"In that case, we had better protect our interests," he replied with a smile. She smiled back.

* * *

Despite natural anxiety over the fate of the cows, dinner was a pleasant affair. Charles realised somewhat to his surprise that he had missed the Crawleys, not just Mary. Rose had always been his friend, the Countess made him feel welcome with a number of significant expressions and a seating plan that put him next to Mary that amused him as much as he welcomed it. Lord Grantham had warmed up to him considerably since the season and discovering that he was the cousin of Sir Severus Blake and he did not care about Edith's lack of interest. If there was one sting in the ointment, it was an increased coolness from Tom Branson who had taken his family connections to the upper classes in Ireland less well than the others; they would have to have a discussion about that one day, but for now there were other priorities. As for Mary, it was a joy and a delight to sit next to her and to accidentally on purpose brush her hand as he reached for his wine glass and be unrepentant when she glared at him for doing so. A hundred business filled telephone calls in which he made it his mission to provoke a laugh from her down the line could not make up for the pleasure of actually being in the same room as her again.

Instead of going into the drawing room with the others, Mary and Charles retired early to prepare for the evening ahead and to change into more suitable clothes.

As Mary left the dining room, Edith caught up to her and stopped her with a touch on her arm.

"What is it?"

"You're in love with him," she stated without preamble.

A shadow crossed Mary's face and she glanced away briefly in the direction Charles went. "I wonder. Can I be?"

"I think you're the only person who doesn't believe it."

She chewed her bottom lip and Edith continued, "It's nothing to be ashamed of if he makes you happy."

Mary raised her eyebrows in acknowledgement. She hesitated a moment too long in replying, however, because her sister spoke again with almost embarrassed haste, "Don't walk away from happiness if the opportunity is offered to you, Mary."

"You have grown very wise," she managed to say, her throat feeling suddenly very tight.

Edith shrugged and moved away. "That's all I wanted to say. You'll do what you want, you always do."

As far as blessings went, it was hardly the most encouraging, but it was more than Mary would have expected. Foreign travel had agreed with her sister and matured her in ways that sometimes took her family by surprise. Her words made Mary feel strangely on edge with anticipation for the evening ahead, even more so than she had felt earlier. Being happy with Charles Blake... it was asking a great deal of her, even now.

She changed into a dark dress, one she had not worn since she had come out of mourning, a pair of old and sturdy shoes that had once belonged to Sybil during the war, and a jacket suitable for the chill that might rise up once the sun had set. Charles was similarly attired, back in his day clothes, with a scarf loosely draped round his neck. He looked relaxed and at home as he waited for her at the bottom of the stairs, talking to Carson. They both looked up at her as she descended and while Charles' broad grin at her appearance made her heart flutter in response, it was the covered, wicker basket that he carried over one arm that made her raise her eyebrows.

"Provisions," he explained as she joined them, in answer to her unasked question. "Mrs. Patmore was very sympathetic – and generous."

"Oh but Charles, we've just eaten."

He waggled his own eyebrows back at her. "More for me then."

Mary pursed her lips but she did not really disapprove. She was fizzing with energy and a desire to be outside, to be alone with him on another adventure, to repeat that evening with the pigs whose importance she had hardly dared to acknowledge even to herself. She wanted to be made to laugh till her sides hurt, she wanted to dare to do things she would never have imagined she would do, she wanted to be more herself with him than when she was alone.

"After you, milady," he was saying with an arch smile, his arm stretched out to allow her to precede him out. With a final few words to Carson, she led the way into the crisp, autumn dusk.

The light outside was a luminous blue and the air was fresh. They walked slowly away from the house, side by side with matching steps, scuffing their way through the dry leaves. Their shoulders bumped together and though for some time neither spoke, their eyes darted to the other's profile on several occasions.

Finally Charles shook his head and laughed out loud.

"What is it?" protested Mary, half laughing because he was.

"You. You make me laugh, Mary!"

"I make you laugh! Do I indeed?"

"Yes, terribly, in the very nicest way. Sometimes when I think about you, I can't help but laugh."

He also thought about kissing her. Kissing her and laughing at the same time and making her laugh as she kissed him back. Mostly though, he just thought about  _her_.

"A source of amusement for Mr. Blake," she murmured with an intrigued inclination of her head. "My life's ambition realised!"

 _Darling..._ "Your life's ambition is to make me laugh. I can't fault your taste." He nudged her.

She nudged back. "Careful, I believe... Yes..." She paused to stare at him with narrowed eyes. She raised her hand and almost touched his hair. "I do believe your head is expanding at an alarming rate." Her fingers were aching to touch him, a sudden, unquenchable thirst, and they lightly brushed a lock of thick, dark hair near his temples. Her eyes shone and lowered from his as she dropped her hand. In that moment, she could have been twenty-one instead of thirty-one and if she had not turned away he was not sure he could have kept from pulling her into his arms and kissing her with all the desire and affection and delight that he felt for her.

They walked on, retracing steps they had last passed together in the small hours of the night. As they went, Mary tentatively opened herself up to sensations and considerations that had long lain dormant, testing out the feel of him at her side, allowing herself to imagine him there in a more permanent capacity than she had succeeded in doing before. It was all very well, after all, to acknowledge the necessity of an eventual re-marriage, quite another to come to terms with it on an emotional level. But this man made her emotions betray themselves and perhaps, just perhaps, the time had come to accept it.

"George is growing into a fine boy," said Charles presently, interrupting her musings.

She smiled. "Yes, he is."

"Quite the orator."

"He walks too, you know. A little anyway."

She watched his face light up and felt a keen and poignant pleasure at the sight.

"That I will have to see." He held back a moment before adding, "It seems Downton is moving forwards since my last visit."

Mary frowned at his interrogative tone. "I expect it would please you if we were. Out with the old, in with the new and so forth; isn't that your philosophy?"

"With a cup of kindness for auld lang syne. Change for the better – that's all I hope for you and yours, Mary."

She looked at him appraisingly and he met her gaze mildly but with intent. Her hands gave her away, however, for they twisted restlessly. She did not reply and when she returned her attention to the path ahead he maintained his stride at her side in a silence that was as companionable as it could be with so much unsaid between them.

Eventually, they came to the ridge which overlooked the farm and Mary led the way in a different direction to the pig sty. The cow shed was newly renovated and, to her biased eyes, impressive.

"What do you think?" she asked him, her gaze darting rapidly from his face to the barn.

He grinned at her. "Let's see inside."

Without waiting for a response, though he could imagine her expression, he pushed open one of the big doors, and entered. It was quiet and dim and instantly peaceful. The sweet smell of fresh straw filled the air and the whole place had an atmosphere of expectation, as if it knew it was soon to have a new life and be filled with productivity and energy.

Mary moved to one side of the door and turned on the new electric lights, bathing the whole barn in a soft, golden glow.

"Aha!" exclaimed Charles, looking around in appreciation. "So you took my advice!"

"Only the good bits."

Her chin was tilted up and her hands folded quietly in front of her. As he took her in, his eyes narrowed slightly and he put the basket on the ground and approached her.

"My advice is always good. That's why you came to me, remember?"

"It's lucky you have that to recommend you as your modesty certainly doesn't."

He prised her cool hands away from each other and held them lightly in his own. She did not resist but he felt more than saw the tension in her. His smile was slow and fond.

"It's perfect, Mary. You've worked hard these last few months and tonight it will all pay off. These will be the best housed cows in all Yorkshire."

She raised her eyebrows but the relieved fall of her shoulders and her half-smile said it all. "I should hope so; they will be Downton cows!"

He dared to give her hands a brief squeeze before letting them go and stepping back and looking round for a good spot to sit themselves down. Behind him, Mary pressed her eyes closed for a moment and flexed her fingers.

"There is one thing missing here, Mary!"

She started forward and exclaimed breathlessly, "Oh?"

"No table! No chairs!"

The eye-roll was predictable, charmingly so.

"We'll just have to improvise then, won't we?"

Without any further ado, she sat down on the straw and leaned against the wall of the barn, smiling up at him with a challenge in her eyes. What a mistake to ever think she was predictable!

"So we shall," he murmured in response and sat down next to her, close and yet not close enough. He pulled the wicker basket towards him and opened it up.

"Wine, milady?"

"You have come well prepared!" She reached into basket and drew out two tumblers. Her hands stilled suddenly.

He glanced at her anxiously, wine bottle and cork screw suspended a moment in mid-air. "Is everything alright? I'm afraid they're not the best glasses – it didn't seem a good idea to take them on a picnic. Mrs. Patmore said you hadn't used these since before the war."

Mary too a deep breath and forced herself back into the present. "I hadn't seen them for a long time, that's all. And yes, I would like some wine."

He wondered at her but she was managing a smile and held out the tumblers to be filled so he let it go. "As milady commands."

This drew a real smile and he was glad. She sipped the wine, nodded in approval, and then held her glass out. He chinked his against hers.

"To the cows!" she said with a knowing smile.

"To the cows. And other animals." He held her gaze even as he sipped his wine.

"What else has Mrs. Patmore prepared for us? Has she made sandwiches?" Mary dropped her gaze to the basket.

"Alas, no. But we have a sausage roll and an apple each. Will that suffice?"

"Oh yes, very well indeed."

She had not fancied sandwiches at all.

Tipping her head back against the wall of the barn, she turned it to look at him and he did not back down from her scrutiny. Eventually she said, "I've wanted to ask you for a while now, Charles, just how you know so much about the practicalities of farm management. Did Sir Severus think it was appropriate training for inheriting a vast fortune?"

He took another sip of wine before answering her, knowing that even when she busied herself with unwrapping a sausage roll from its paper bag, she was poised to hear his response.

"Not exactly. I was never meant to inherit anything. Of course, Sir Severus should have married and had a son of his own. By the time it became clear he was not going to, there was still my older brother to learn the ropes. He was taken off to Ireland and brought up in Ulster; it was something of a painful break within the family, as I'm sure you can imagine. My cousin is not known for... his caring nature."

Mary nodded, her eyes fixed on his face but she did not interrupt.

"As the younger son, I needed an occupation and, as I had no desire to turn clergyman or soldier and I liked the countryside, I spent most of my youth getting in the way at the local great estate before my father ordered me to pull up my socks and thrust me in the direction of the home office. In the event, it has suited me rather well."

"I see. But your brother?" Mary dared to ask, already suspecting the answer.

"The Somme got him, poor devil." He gulped his wine. "I hardly knew him but he was still my brother."

"And the estate?"

Charles shrugged. "My cousin and I think very differently about how to run an estate; I don't think, for instance, that your brother-in-law would approve of how Sir Severus treats his tenants, and neither do I for that matter. The world's different to what it was, Mary. Land should be owned by people who deserve it and will look after it, not miserly, selfish, old Luddites like my well-named cousin."

"Well, that's certainly a good enough reason for why you kept quiet about your links to one of the richest men in the country for such a long time."

" _One_ of the reasons," he replied, his eyes gleaming at her in such a way to make her drop her gaze with a conscious smile. She stared into her tumbler and swirled the remaining wine, frowning. "Anyway, Sir Severus is a tough old bird and not likely to pop off any time soon so the problem can be avoided for a few years more at least."

Mary raised her eyes to his and looked at him with such a wealth of understanding he was forced to look away.

"I'm sorry for prying," she said softly. "I understand why you don't talk about it."

She laid her hand on his arm and he felt the warmth of it spread all through him. He made himself meet and hold her gaze. "You're welcome to pry, Mary, about anything you like."

Her eyes widened and for a moment he thought she would pull away and reclaim her hand, but she did not. Instead she pressed down lightly and squeezed his arm and did not look away.

"Well then," she murmured.

They sat together, perfectly still, for several long moments as the air around them shifted like the dust motes caught in the soft electrical light and their worlds rocked gently off balance and then settled into a fresh order.

Finally, Mary sighed and relaxed back against the wall. "After all the trouble Mrs. Patmore has gone to, we're neglecting-"

"Mary." His hand clasped hers as she removed it from his arm and lowered it to where their legs almost touched. He sat up to face her. "Mary, I-"

Her lips parted as she looked at him expectantly but for once he was lost for words, caught in her beauty, his adoration of her and the magic of the moment she had tried to disturb.

She drew a deep breath, giving herself the courage to leap, if he should ask her to. Yes, in answer to Edith's question, Charles Blake did make her happy. He made her more than happy, he made her feel alive and whole in a way she had not felt since Matthew's death. And she could not believe that that could be, should be a bad thing. After all, wouldn't it have amused Matthew to see her as she was now, sitting in the straw of her cow shed drinking wine at eleven o'clock at night? Wouldn't he be  _proud_ of what she had done and what she was doing now for the estate and for their son's future? She knew, deep in her secret heart with a warmth and certainty that defied explanation, that he would be. That he was.

"Charles, you wanted to-"

Before she could finish her sentence, both jumped and he grasped her hand in an automatic reaction to the unmistakable sound of motor vehicles outside in the yard. Mary's eyes widened and she scrambled to her feet with him only just behind her.

"Charles, the cows! I think they're here!"

Abandoning the basket, she ran to the door and pulled it open to discover that the cows, transported in two large, noisy lorries led by the cowman in his car, had indeed arrived.

For an hour or so, under the cover of darkness, they assisted in the movement of all the cows from their transport to their new home. Charles took a more active part while Mary oversaw the operation and signed the appropriate papers. By the time they were done, however, he was sweaty from the exertion and she had straw sticking to her black coat and very little idea how it got there. They were grateful to accept a lift back to the house from the cowman, a ride spent in heavy silence, their hands resting inches apart on the car seat, while their driver told them in detail about just what had happened to the second lorry near Peterborough and how the problem had been eventually solved.

Unlike last time, Carson had stayed up, and let them in at the front to enquire after their success and relieve them of Mrs. Patmore's basket. Finally left alone in the hallway, they turned to face each other.

"A job well done, I think," said Mary brightly.

His eyes crinkled into a smile. "I'm glad you think so."

"Why, do you disagree?"

"Not about the cows. They seemed extremely satisfied with their new home, didn't you think?"

"Their home is Downton. Of course they are satisfied!"

She smirked at him and held out her hand as he chuckled. "Who wouldn't be?" He took her hand and pressed it, holding onto it for a moment too long.

Mary drew a breath and exhaled it to calm herself. "Goodnight, Charles," she said pointedly and drew her hand back, letting her fingers slip slowly from his with a tingle of heat.

He smiled ruefully. "Until tomorrow then, milady."

At the bottom of the stairs she turned and met his eyes briefly. "Until tomorrow!"

* * *

"I see you received my summons!" said Mary as she came into the saloon, pulling on her gloves, to find Charles already booted up and waiting for her.

"And obeyed them instantly," he replied. His eyes met hers and there was an intimacy and understanding in them that had not been there even the evening before.

"How gratifying," she murmured and smiled gratefully at Carson as he helped her into her new coat, autumnal in its dark red hue.

They made their way outside into a bright, autumn morning, their steps falling together as they crunched across the gravel. The sun was already high for both had slept late but the air was cool and Mary was glad of her coat.

"I like to think you would do the same if the circumstances were reversed."

"Unquestioning obedience?" She raised her eyebrows. "I thought you more modern than that, Charles."

He laughed. "Responding with pleasure to an invitation to walk down to the farm after breakfast. Obedience in any other sphere I would be very wary of."

She turned to him. "Aren't you to be trusted?"

"When it comes to you, almost certainly not."

He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers, the gesture stiff from the leather gloves they both wore. It was enough, however, for her to draw in a sharp breath and for her stomach to flip over at the unexpected physical contact. She looked at him questioningly but he only smiled and squeezed her hand. She could not help it; her lips twitched up and she gently squeezed back in assent. It was enough though, and they continued down the path, hand in glorious hand.

"Short cut through the field?" he queried her some moments later, stopping where steps had been cut into the stone wall.

Mary dropped his hand and walked closer to peer over it. "I suppose it won't be too muddy," she said doubtfully.

"Now, I know you're not afraid of a spot of mud, Mary!" he laughed, hopping up the steps and grinning down at her. "You promised me wrestling!"

She ignored the appealing picture he made of himself. "If I knew that's what you had in store for me, I'd have dressed more appropriately."

He held out a hand to her. "Come on, it hasn't rained in at least a week; it'll be dry as a bone."

She rolled her eyes and gave in, ignoring his hand until she had stepped over the ridge on the top of the wall when she took it to aid her in jumping down.

Charles was right in his assessment of the conditions of the ground. The earth was hard and dry underfoot and even when they moved further into the field and the grass got thicker and the terrain more uneven and they kept a tight hold on the other's hand for balance there was still no danger of sinking into mud.

The field was a large one and stretched over a rise in the ground. As they trudged uphill and could see all the way to the gate in the opposite corner, they also noticed that they were not alone. A large, solitary cow looked up from chewing the cud as they crested the rise.

"Oh!" exclaimed Mary breathlessly, swaying and clutching Charles' hand tighter. "Merrill's brought them out to pasture already. I suppose we were quite late down this morning."

"Mmm. So why is there only one in this field?"

Mary shrugged. "It's Merrill's job to know these things." She set off again along the flat, pulling a strangely reluctant Charles behind her.

The cow noticed them and started trotting towards them in a relaxed way.

Charles suddenly stopped walking and dropped her hand, only to grab her arm and force her to stand still. "Mary," he said quietly but with a note of warning in his tone that made her stop more willingly than his hand had done. "I don't think that's a cow."

"Then-"

"That's a bull and you, my love, are wearing a red coat."

Their eyes met in alarm before Charles looked away to judge their distance to the gate.

"Should we run?" she whispered, standing perfectly still.

"Not till I say so."

The bull stopped when they did and raised its head to assess them.

"We won't get to the gate," Charles said equally quietly. "Can you climb the wall if I help you?"

Mary did not dare to look round, keeping her eyes fixed on the animal's face. "I expect we will soon find out." She was trembling with the effort of remaining motionless.

At this point the bull decided that the showdown was getting tiresome. He set off in their direction, a little faster this time. Charles instantly grabbed Mary by the waist and spun her round pushing her in front of him. "Run, Mary! As fast as you can!"

She pulled up her skirts above her knees and ran, her breath coming in short gasps for her chest was tight with anxiety, excitement and, weirdly, an entirely inappropriate desire to laugh.

They reached the wall ahead of the bull and Mary had already gripped the top of it with both hands and was searching among the gaps between the uneven stones for foot holes when Charles came up behind her and started pushing her up, manhandling her with necessary indelicacy.

"I wouldn't normally..." he gasped out, shoving her hips until she was able to get one leg over the wall.

"Please don't mention it!" she cried, briefly meeting his eyes, swinging her other leg over and dropping down the other side, landing awkwardly, slightly grazing her ankle, and stumbling backwards.

She steadied herself in time to see his head and torso emerge over the top of the wall and stepped forward again, instinctively holding her arms to receive him as he jumped down, as if she were helping him and not the other way round.

He leapt backwards just in time, for the bull was hard on his heels and snorted in disappointment when it failed to catch the trespassers to his field. Landing only marginally less awkwardly than she had done, he would have stumbled further if she had not blocked him and caught him.

He turned to face her and then – there they were, in each other's arms for the first time without even knowing quite how it came about. Both were breathing hard, their eyes bright and cheeks flushed from the unexpected exercise, but now that both were safely on the other side of the wall and there was no reason to cling to each other, still they did not let go. Rather, they could not stop touching each other now that they had given themselves the excuse to begin. His hands were on her back, stroking and exploring, learning the planes of her muscles through her heavy coat, and hers fluttered over his face, brushed over his hair and trailed round his neck.

"We're safe," he said, the happiness in his tone belying the concern of his words.

"No thanks to your short cut," she retorted, almost as if they were not doing what they were doing, though her eyes shone and gave her away.

"Sometimes things don't turn out exactly as we expect them to."

"Not always," she agreed more softly.

Suddenly her lip twitched and she could no longer hold back the laughter.

"We were chased by a bull! Over a wall! Oh,  _Charles_!" she exclaimed between gusts of mirth, pushing against him as much as she leaned in to his embrace, making him complicit in her appreciation of the funny side of their adventure. He held her more tightly and laughed in agreement and because she was the most delightful woman he had ever known and he loved her. At this point there was nothing left to do but to kiss her over and over again, which he did, and the only surprise about it was that he had not done so sooner.

"I want to throw my lot in with yours, Mary," he said breathlessly when they parted, the leather of his glove rough against the softness of her cheek.

She was still laughing, more vibrantly alive and open to sensation than she had been in almost all her life. "I can't tell if you are asking to be my farm manager or my husband."

"Both, if you'll have me," he replied without missing a beat. He tried to be serious and his eyes succeeded. It was hard, however, not to smile when she was.

She took a deep breath, trying to be calm. "And a father too? I don't think – Charles, I don't think I'd be an easy woman to marry."

"And yet you are a very easy woman to love." She smiled, her lips pressed together, her cheeks rosy. "I can't lie to you and pretend I already love George as I should when I've only met him a couple of times – but I want to and I will."

She bit her lip. "And Ireland? You can't expect me to-"

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Are you trying to give me reasons to take back what I said? Because I don't back down so easily."

She shook her head. "Oh no, you're very determined!"

"I am! And as for Ireland, I have as little desire to live there as you do, Mary. When I said I wanted to throw my lot in with yours, I meant it. But Abernally will be mine one day and when that happens I will have to travel there frequently to decide what is to be done with it and see that through to the bitter end, whatever that may be. It will probably be very difficult and frustrating for at least a couple of years." His smile turned crooked and apologetic.

"No."

"No?"

She touched his arm and ran her hand down it, pulling it away from her waist and bringing it between them until she was able to hold his hand in hers, threading her fingers through his as he had done on the way. "No," she repeated. " _We_ will travel there and decide what is to be done."

The only possible response to this was to kiss her again, a soft, lingering kiss, more gentle than their first but also deeper, sealing them together in a shared future.

"But I expect it will be several years before we will have to face this. As I said last night, Sir Severus is in rude health, offensively so, you could say."

"Yet all men must die," she replied, her eyes flickering away from his for a moment.

"Yes." He caught hold of her chin and forced her to look at him. "But first they must live, Mary! Do you hear me?"

"I do." She felt a pressure in her heart that she could not express in words and she cupped his face, mirroring the caress of his fingers on her own cheek.

"Will you live with me, Mary?"

"I will." Her gaze no longer wavered.

A smile suffused his features such as she had never seen before. "And I will live with you." His hand slid round the back of her neck to pull her towards him. "Dearest Mary..." he murmured, his tone so deep that she felt rather than heard it, reverberating in her chest next to her own pounding heart. "I'm so glad!"

"So am I," she murmured, curling her fingers against the skin on the back of his neck as she tucked her chin onto his shoulder and allowed herself to relax against him as his arms encircled her.

"Mary..." he whispered, raising his head several minutes later, and lightly pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Mmm?" Her eyes had closed.

"We're not alone." Now she realised that his voice was shaking with suppressed laughter.

She raised her head from his shoulder and turned within the security of his arms, only to let out a gasp when she found herself face to face with the placid, curious faces of two friendly brown cows, the rest of the herd not far behind.


End file.
